


And It All Comes Tumbling Down

by audreyslove



Series: OQ Happy Endings Week [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: Missing Year, Regina heals the sick and contracts a deathly illness herself.





	1. Chapter 1

“Where is she?” he asks again, a bit more agitated now.  His fever is gone, his son’s as well, but still he feels himself sweating underneath his tunic, heat licking at his ears, his neck, his cheeks.

The princess won’t meet his eyes, the prince just shakes his head, as if an apology is trying to escape that he cannot say.

“She  _ insisted _ ,” Snow protests, her voice reedy and wobbly.  Shit, this is bad. “She insisted, Robin, on healing  _ everyone.   _ I did ask if she could help, but I never thought, I… most of the royals were immune, we all caught it as children, and she said she’d be fine, she— “

Snow is useless, and Robin wants to tell her so, and then say much more, things that could easily get him locked in a dungeon for the rest of his life. But he doesn’t have time to argue with her right now, right now he has to see Regina, he has to make sure she’s going to survive, she’ll be okay…

“Where?” Robin asks between clenched teeth, “Where is she?”

It’s the Prince that answers, tells him Regina has quarantined herself in a small room off of the infirmary.  

“She said she just needed a moment's break from the rest of us peasants,” Charming explains, but they all know Regina well enough to detect bullshit when it comes out of her mouth.

And Snow looks worried when she admits, “I think she sealed the door shut with magic.  I don’t know what to do.”

Well, what she could have bloody well done is listened to him and let Regina fully recover.  

Robin had been looking after her himself until the moment he fell ill himself.  She had never fully recovered from the poisonous venom of that damned flying monkey, despite acting like she was fine.  He saw the way she winced as she reached for anything with her left hand, the stiff way she would hold her shoulders. 

She wouldn’t let him see the bite mark when he asked, just scoffed and pushed him away, muttering that his attempt to see her in a state of undress were pathetic.

But he knew, he knew she was weak.  And now she is both injured and ill, and if the royals had only listened to him she would be safe.

“I told you.” Robin scowls, pointing a finger at Snow White.  “When Roland contracted the sickness, I asked her how old she was when she got the bloody disease, and she  _ could not answer me _ .  I told you she hadn't ever had it before so she probably was not immune, _begged_ you to keep her away.”

“Do you really believe we can control her?” David asks thunderously.  It’s unusual for him to sound so angry, but then again, has Robin ever spoken to his wife like that before?

“We asked her to heal them, David.” Snow’s eyes show enough remorse to almost make her crime forgivable.  

“We didn’t have to ask, she was going to do it anyway,” David argues back.  “You as saw the look on her face.”

“She was too weak.  Robin was right. She neverwas quote herself after the flying monkey attack,” Snow whispers, “And this illness, many of the children recover quickly, it just would have been a weeks worth of discomfort, it wasn’t worth this.”

“Some of the adults could have died,” David reminds.  

“Maybe.  Maybe not.  All magic comes at a price,” Robin reiterates.  “I don’t even want to know what price she’s paying for healing dozens of a very serious virus. Now where is this room she’s hiding in?”

Snow shows him, explains the door won’t budge, that it’s no use, they will just have to wait.  That Regina assured her she just needed a quiet place to rest and does not want to be bothered.

But it’s nonsense, Snow’s eyes fall downward as she admits the Queen was shaking and pale as she made her retreat.

Robin is very fond of castles, however, not only for their strong walls, or for the wealth and treasures that exist in them.

He’s also fond of the maze of secret tunnels that exist, hidden entrances and exits that make the work of a clever thief far more interesting.

So it doesn't take much snooping to find another way in that room, a way Regina thank god has not decided to seal off.

He packs a small bundle of things he thinks might aid the Queen in her recovery, and then sets off into a small tunnel that leads to her room. He has to crawl at one point, the tunnel is so small, and there’s a stone wall that has a small door he can push through to get into her room.  

Everything rattles and shakes as he pushes against the opening, years of not being used has taken its toll, the castle walls have settled, nearly making this group of loose stones unloveable.

Yet he’s able to get it open with some work, and a lot of noise.

And he’s quite prepared to meet the angry eyes of his Queen the second he finished crawling through to her. 

But she’s not waiting on the other side, not at all.

The room is bigger than he expected, several little cots set up, tarp covering over many of the beds. As well as several shelves and tables, layers of dust are all around.

This is not a sterile environment, not at all.  The queen is laying on the opposite end of the room, though he does not see her on first inspection.  It’s a small cot, just the size of a simple sick bed, nothing else, in the corner. He can only see the shock of her black hair peeking out from stark white linen - it seems that bed is clean, at least.  He approaches her quietly, afraid of what he will find. His heart beats in relief as he comes close enough to hear her irregular, labored breathing.

Alive, then.

Thank god.  Alive.

But he isn’t sure how alive, because as he comes close enough to touch her she still doesn’t rouse.  Such a light sleeper she is, the queen, as quiet as he can be he could never sneak by her undetected.

Now he isn’t really trying to evade her ears, and yet she still sleeps.  

He steals a stool nearby and scoots it next to her, purposely dragging to make noise, but Regina does not react to the sound at all.

She is sleeping on her side, her profile turned in the opposite direction of him, towards the stone wall.  He can’t see much of her face at all, not the way her hair is shielding it from his view, thick, damp tresses pooling around her face, weaving around and forming some intricate mask some slight form of protection.  

He combs his fingers through her hair.  Heat is radiating off of her, the skin underneath those humid locks is like firey coals.

Shit.

She is somehow pale and flushed at the same time, sweaty, eyes sunken into hollow, darkened circles of skin underneath.  Her lips are pale and so, so parched.

She’s severely dehydrated.

“God, Regina, what have you done?” he whispers, but she doesn’t answer.  She is hot, sweating, asleep so deeply he worries she might not wake.

But her breathing is labored, but steady, her pulse is strong (her wrists are so delicate, so thin, he enjoys holding them so much, hopes it won’t be the last time.

He doesn’t have much help to offer, but he reaches for the contents of his satchel and gets to work.

.::.

She always knew she would end up in hell.

That’s where she is now, burning, and burning, and yet it’s an odd heat, it does not sear her flesh, and she somehow feels chilled at moments, alone and uncovered as she is, in the middle of this firey pit.

She wants water, desperately so, and doesn’t even begin to hope for it.  The devil, should he exist, Hades, should he exist, will only hold it over her, putting it just out of reach.

This for eternity.

But was it much better, there on Earth?  Where every day she had to watch mothers and father with their children, had to watch Snow excitedly tell her that she and David were rebuilding a new family, while she will never see Henry again? 

That was torture.  Pure, unbridled torture.  She can handle the flames, she thinks.

The alternative was too much to bear, and that’s why she had to end it.  

Not a suicide, not at all.  Henry would be so disappointed were he ever to know she had ended her life.  She couldn’t…. she wouldn’t.

But dying to save others, that is a noble death.  Maybe one day, far into the future, or maybe in the afterlife, Henry will discover how his mother died, and he will have at least one positive thought of her.

That’s a nice thought, she’s surprised she’s still allowed nice thoughts, here in hell.

Regina must be delirious, so hot she feels cold, at least her forehead does.  Her nerve endings must be shot, body confused and revolting against the pain. Flames are licking at her, prickling and biting, but it’s… odd, this fire.  It’s almost a massaging at her chest, so hot it’s cool, and why does it smell like… pine needles, and peppermint, and  _ him,  _ oh god she’s really hallucinating now, because she’s spinning around, looking to find  _ him  _ in hell, and as she thrashes, she feels a cool hand on her chest - it’s a hand, for sure, a hand that's taken the shape of his, she knows that now.  

“Shhh, Regina, it’s all right, you are going to fight through this.”

It’s then that she realizes her eyes are closed.  And she opens them slowly, the sea of flames leaving her sight as a white warmth takes over.  

But is this heaven?  And how? Has the thief managed to steal her from the land of the damned?

Her vision goes blurry, ends fuzzy and cottony as her eyes adjust the light.

She’s in a white room, with white little capes hung all around, like wings of angels, falling delicately…

Her limbs are still freezing, even under the warmth of down filled blankets around her, but her face feels so oppressively hot for a moment, until the touch of cool she had felt before returns.  It’s a rag, she realizes, soaked in cool water. 

“That feels nice,” Regina gasps as he presses the cold cloth around her temples.  She cannot help but let out a little moan, god, it feels good to feel something that isn’t pain, if only for a moment.  Her throat is dry and like sandpaper, god, if only she could have a drink….

“I’m glad,” Robin’s voice answers her.  It is him, or someone who sounds like him, maybe.  “Can you keep down water, milady?”

As if he read her mind.  She cannot bear to speak again with her throat and mouth so painfully dry, so she tries to nod, the simple act causing overwhelming dizziness.  

But as her head tilts down, in defeat, towards her chest, she catches the hint of that fresh smelling fragrance.  It keeps her from passing out, from succumbing to the vertigo and spinning and retching in front of this man. 

But then she sees his hands are on her, and he’s working something against her chest (he better be careful, he’s dangerously close to the swells of her breast, and she might be dying, but she will lose her last breath to scare him out of copping a feel).  

It’s oil he’s working into her chest, some sort of concoction that’s oddly refreshing, and she breathes it in.  It’s cutting through the haze, the confusion of where she is.

Is she still in her room?  The one she sealed with blood magic?

How is he here?

Why is he going to such lengths to save her?

One warm hand slides away from her chest, and there’s wineskin at her lips.

“Drink,” he requests.

She desperately wants to drink, but water is life, and life without Henry is a curse.

So she fights it, for a bit, turns away, screws her mouth shut.

Robin is patient yet insistent, never drawing away the wineskin from her, until she succumbs to the overwhelming thirst and parts her lips.

Cool water dribbles out, falls on her tongue, down her throat, the pain of those first swallows is acute, yet she fights the desire to cough and make it worse, swallowing, waiting for the hot scratching to quell. 

And it does.

She can’t drink more than a few swallows without feeling nauseous, so she stops, let’s the water splash out the sides of her parted lips, down her chin  and neck, spilling to her chest.

“I am sorry,” Robin says needlessly, and she would tell him how unnecessary his apology was if words were not so difficult at the moment.

She takes another whiff of the fragrant oil, and his hands are massaging against her hot skin, she shivers, it just feels so  _ good. _

She shouldn’t be allowed to feel like this, not anymore.

“What is this?” Because she doesn’t know what he doing, or why, or even truly where she is.  

“Peppermint and Frankincense oil with hint of lavender.  For your fever.” Robin answers, as if the only question she could possible ask was about the useless herbal remedy forrest healers rely upon. 

Maybe she’s allergic to Frankincense and he will end up being the death of her, after all.

She wouldn’t mind that much at all.

Except he didn’t come to kill her, her unknowing soulmate.  It appears he’s trying to fix her. He’s always trying to do that, and she finds it obnoxious. She can only imagine the interest he’d take in her if he discovered their souls were destined for one another.

Or were, before she irreparably corrupted hers.

It’s a combination of the powerful scent of those oils and the water surging through her veins, she thinks, that’s curing her, making her stronger.  It’s not his touch 

“Why are you here?” her voice still weak, “How did you get here, I didn’t mean for—“

“My majesty must not forget to seal the  _ entire  _ room with magic, instead of just the main entrance.  For any unsuspecting thief may come crawling in from any crevice in the stone walls, and what good is all that magical protection then?”

Regina chuckles a bit, it scratches her throat badly enough to seize her into a coughing fit, and Robin helps her roll to her side, his palm patting small circles on her back as she chokes and stutters.  “I sealed the windows and the door,” she whispers, feeling a bit… better. Bantering with him always gives her a spike in energy. “Forgot about those tunnels.”

“Yes, lucky for me,” Robin drawls. “And for Roland.  And the Kingdom that needs its Queen.”

“Roland,” she rasps, suddenly aware she hadn’t asked, “the others, the babies, the—“

“All fine,” Robin says, a bit of annoyance to his voice.  “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“Nothing is worth the life of a child,” Regina say with renewed conviction, her body finding a way to give her the force she needs to fight this battles. “Not even my life.”

”None of them were in mortal danger.  You know there were no actual babies with the sickness, milady. Not a child under the age of four.  All were quite capable of withstanding the illness without your help.”

“Mmm…  been through enough,” Regina murmur, shutting her eyes right to quell the blinding pain behind her eyes.  Her headaches, all this talking, all this  _ trying,  _ it’s exhausting, she just needs to stop thinking.

“And you?  Haven’t you been through enough?”

“Why do you care?” she manages to open her eyes to shoot him a pointed glare.  

He looks positively pained at her question, letting out a deep sigh, his breath tickling her cheek. “Oh, Regina, do you not realize my feelings for you?” he says simply, as if she should already know, as if they had dated for years as if they regularly share feelings such as these..

But they haven’t. They share some things, of course.  He’s let her share his son, partially, and her feelings for the boy causes such a conflict in her head.  She loves Roland, and he makes her heart ache just a little less. Yet there’s such a guilt that comes with that, as she worries some small part of her is replacing Henry.  So it hurts more, and not as much, being with his son, and that’s a terrible thing. Roland deserves someone who can love him freely, the way his uncles and father do. So he’s let Regina borrow Roland, but she’s careful to not let the boy get too attached.

They’ve also shared some rather tense conversations, her and Robin.  He’s seen her nearly put herself into a comatose state over her son, and has since talked her down from nearly every wreckless, nearly suicidal plan she has come up with.  

They’ve fought like cats and dogs, argued in a room filled with annoyed friends, but they never stopped, neither wanting to lose whatever debate they were having.  Somewhere along the way Regina realized how much she loves fighting with him, as how he always seems to fight back a smirk as he argues back with her, as if he knew how much she was enjoying him.

The moment she gave him those golden tipped arrows, she thinks, he probably knew her feelings towards him, despite the fact she’s never voiced them.  She was never that good of an actress, after all, and every argument she picks with him can’t undo the way she looks at him, the way her body seems to lean into him.  He’s had to have known, to have noticed she is fighting affections for him. That’s probably why he developed this obnoxious habit of following her when she was at her most vulnerable. 

And really, that night in the stables, during the Yuletide festivities (the bits of Christmas Snow and David had brought into the celebration having been too painf, made her miss Henry too much) Robin was ungodly kind to her, shared a jug full of mead and let her open her heart to him, confessions on her lips, her mind swimming with grief and loss and yes, lust.

Had she not seen his tattoo, she would have given into those desires instead of running away.

And it’s odd that he’s never taken her rejection to heart, that he’s always there, patient and kind, no matter how she treats him, and is so  _ unnerving  _ and  _ frustrating. _

And now he won’t even let her die a noble death. 

She’d be livid with him if she weren’t so tired, so feverish.

“Can you heal yourself?” 

His voice is hopeful, yet tentative.  He seems almost  _ afraid,  _ and it’s terribly unfair that he must care for her so deeply when she is destined to be damned.

“Used all my strength locking that door,” she grumbles.  “A lot of good that did.”

“I think you can heal yourself.” Robin says softly.  And then there’s oil being poured on her hands, and he’s rubbing them into palms and fingertips.  The oil must be warm to be so fluid and runny, but it feels cool to her. Gods, she is burning up.

“Don’t you think I would have healed myself, if I could?” she asks.

“No.” Robin answers, but he doesn’t elaborate or tell her any of his theories, thank the gods.

He’s busy massaging this oil into her palms, her hands, up her wrist… she’s raising her arm to give him better access, unspoken body language asking for more.  This is nonsense, this herbal remedy, this idea that lathering ones extremities in oil will somehow quell a fever, it’s ludicrous. It won’t help at all. But being touched this way, honestly, it’s a piece of heaven right now.

“That feels nice,” she breathes, tired of denying that it does.

“I’m glad. I like making you feel so,” Robin says, his voice all low and smooth. “Wish I could help take the pain away, Regina, I do, but—“

“You can’t,” she says sternly, because they aren’t just talking about the fever or her injury and they know it. “No one can.”

“I know.” Robin admits. “But when you are in danger like this, I—“ She hadn’t realized how serious it is until his voice breaks, and he sighs, not speaking for several moments. He shifts to rubbing her other hand. which she gives over to him easily, and then he speaks. 

“You jumped in front of that monkey, despite the fact my bow was drawn, and I had a clear shot.”

“You could have missed,” she breathes.

“You know I never do.” 

He surprises her, in a quick movement he leaves her hand, reaching for her nightgown and drawing it back over her shoulder.  From the sound of his gasp, the way his eyebrows knit and furrow, he is not pleased with what he sees. 

She knows the bite from the monkey had become gravely infected before she succumbed to the illness.  The poison spreading slowly, then. There were black, veiny lines trickling from wound, making her weaker, yet not killing her.  She imagines it looks quite worse now, with her immune system compromised. This type of poison spreads slowly, a slow burn, slowly consuming you, miserable moment by moment  That’s always been the way she knew she would die.

“You didn’t try to heal yourself.  You didn’t let anyone see to you,” he goes on.  “But you healed nearly thirty of a serious illness, even in your weakened state.”

“The poison is complicated,” she lies.  “I couldn’t get it out, even if I tried.”

“It’s easier to feel this type of pain,” Robin says blankly, ignoring her, oiled hands stroking over the wound (the slight touch makes her wince).  “Easier than the pain in your heart. But don’t do this. Don’t be selfish. If you go, if there is no more of you—” there’s that crack again. “I’ve been so worried, Regina.  I could tell you a thousand reasons why your life is valuable and necessary to the people, and every reason would be true. We need your knowledge of this witch, we need your strength, your leadership.”  he rubs at her neck, in an odd way she rather likes. “We need your protection, your power, your compassion. But I don’t give a damn about any of that. I’m here because I need you. Selfishly.”

Her heart throbs in her chest, breath catching, unable to respond.

“And I suspect my needs matter little to you, so I will have to make a case for my son, and the other children who have become attached to you.  So can you do me a favor, and try, just try heal yourself? Just give it a real shot. For the children, if nothing else. You know they will need you again. If there’s a magical cure I need to get—”

She can heal the sickness easily, once the poison is gone.  And she is fairly certain she knows the cure for the poison.  And she’s so damn tired of the pain she lets herself be convinced her life is actually worth a damn, and then she’s spewing out ingredients, things he first repeats, and then rushes to write down, a quill digging into the flesh of his arm.

“My bedchambers, all the things you need, on my vanity, except the plant, the fire flower, that you will have to get—”

“I know where to get that.  I did live in a forest for years.”

He forces her to drink again, kissing her forehead.

That should surprise her, but the tender kiss seems so natural she almost forgets that they don’t do this everyday.  

And then he’s gone, promising to return with the remedy.

.::.

She passes out, she thinks, from the exhaustion of the conversation, the emotions too strong for her weak head and heart.  But he is waking her lightly.  He's running fingers through her hair, and it all comes back to her. He’s sitting on the edge of her bed, now, looking at her so tenderly she could nearly choke.

“You have to cut me,” she rasps, “to get the potion in quickly, it has to—”

“I know, love, you told me.  I have my knife. Right through the bite marks, then?”

She nods, and closes her eyes tight, awaiting the pain.  The bite has never healed, the flesh is tender to the touch.

“Would you like some whiskey?” Robin asks his hand hovering over the cut.

And, well, yes she would.

She nods, and he brings another wineskin to her lips, letting her drink her fill.

She has several large swallows before she pulls back and gasps.  And then she lets him run his fingertips over her skin, gentle, loving, waiting for her to be ready.

She gives it a few minutes - more than she needs, really, but his hands feel good, the always do, and despite the whiskey going to her head so quickly.  

She’s always loved his touch, and now she finally has an excuse to let him touch her more.

He runs down her arm, and on the way up his wrist touches graces a nipple in a way that is entirely accidental, yet it feels nice, has her letting out a deep, appreciative sigh.

Robin chuckles at the sound of her. She doesn’t know if he’s even aware that he’s unintentionally touched her intimately, and that’s amusing to her as well.

“Has the whiskey kicked in, then?” he asks, and she nods.  As giggly and lift as she feels it kicked in rather quickly.  

He has a twisted piece of cloth from behind him and asks if she wants to bite down on it.

And she really doesn’t want him to see her biting down on some rag, she’s not sure why (the whiskey is probably why) but she shakes her head, saying she can handle the pain.

He doesn’t waste anymore time, she’s almost surprised by how quickly his knife moves and slices the infected bite.

It’s scorching hot, throbbing pain that leaves her breathless, tears leak from her eyes as she wills herself to not make a sound.

And then he’s working in the potion, rubbing it in like she described, over the cut, and over the affected skin.

She doesn’t expect the potion to work quite so well, truly. It’s a complicated brew, and some part of her just assumed he’d screw something up.

But the moment it hits the cut she feels it seeping in.  He does as she described, rubbing it over the affected skin, hands roaming down the sides of her body, down her left rib, over the sides of her breast.  

There’s a surge of power inside her, begging to be released.  Her magic is strong now, and she wants to live.

It’s easier, actually, to heal at times like these.  When she's feeling… like this, she can’t describe it, maybe it’s the whiskey, or the potion itself, some combination of both plus the strong hands of the man touching her.  In any case she feels like she is soaring, her heart full of something she can’t describe.

She didn’t think she would get to feel like this, not anymore.

But it feels good, and the pain of this infection, this virus, it is a hindrance to letting herself feel pure bliss, so she focuses her mind and mouths the silent incantations, willing away what ails her with the magic coursing through her veins.

And the fever, the aching pain just melts away.

Robin notices almost immediately (her skin is now free of the black and green spidery lines, the deeply infected wound completely healed, and she's able to take a lightly deep, gasping breath without pain).

Robin doesn’t stop rubbing in the potion to now clear, healthy skin.  He looks up at her, grateful smile on his face. 

“Is it all gone, then?”

She smiles back at him, letting herself briefly close her eyes and enjoy the sensation of his hands, of feeling nothing but  _ pleasure  _ after battling the pain of the poison for weeks.

“Mmhm.” She’s basking in the feeling, her whole body zinging and humming with the relief of so suddenly being taken out of the throbbing, stabbing misery she’s been in for weeks.

“Well, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” Robin asks, there’s a hint of bitterness to his tone that would annoy her, if not for the whiskey and the… whatever else she has in her system, she’d be annoyed.

But she’s not, she even finds his scowl adorable.

“You mixed the potion very well,” she admits.  “Worked almost as well as it would if I made it myself.”

“No, I think I made it better than you would have.  Perhaps you were too afraid to try. Afraid you would get it wrong.  And that explains why you let yourself get near death, hmm?”  He's trying to forge a little cute smile, but h e looks so utterly miserable, so  _ concerned  _ about her .  And it has her heart knocking hard.  She doesn’t deserve this, not at all, but she has it anyway. 

And perhaps she doesn’t have to keep pushing it away.  

She locked herself in a fortress of stone and blood magic and he still found a way in.

He’s not going to give up, so perhaps, maybe this once, she can let him claim victory.

“Robin.” She leans up and places a palm on each of his cheeks.  She can’t find the words to properly express what she feels (perhaps she can, but she’s not ready to say them, not yet).  So she hopes she can communicate more in the way she strokes his cheek, the (hopefully) tender look she gives him. And then she almost ruins it by attempting to explain.  “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I just—”

She doesn’t get to finish, because he’s leaning in and kissing her.  

It’s a perfect kiss, unbelievably passionate, so much emotion thrown in it takes her breath away.

She doesn’t want it to end, so she deepens it, cups the back of his neck and lies back down, taking him with her.  

There’s no protest, no moment of hesitation, he goes willingly, body shifting so he is next to her, the top half of his body leaning over her to kiss and kiss.  

He is braced on an elbow, his other hand free to slide up and down the side of her body, before he settles on her hip and gives it a squeeze through her nightgown.

She still has all this adrenaline pumping through her, all those endorphins running wild from the pain that since has healed.  She’s tingly and euphoric and there’s truly no reason why this feeling needs to end.

So she’s not going to think about the reasons she should stop.  She’s just going to keep kissing him.

He pulls away first, the bastard, panting and smiling, his face all flushed and red.  “This… isn’t exactly how I pictured our first kiss.”

She suddenly grows self conscious, thinking of the venue of this little tryst, and it’s almost enough to regret it. 

“Yes, I imagine no one really wants to kiss a woman who has been on her sick bed looking like death,” She attempts a chuckle, tries to move out of his embrace, but his arms are firm around her, holding her in place.

“That’s not what I meant.  And you look gorgeous, perhaps more now than I've ever seen you before.”

She rolls her eyes playfully at that, but he isn’t in the mood for jokes.

“I’m serious, you know.  As lovely as those outfits are, and those… intricate hairstyles and dramatic colored lips, I think your very best look might be a linen nightgown, hair free and wild, face clean and unpainted.”

She believes him, in this moment. Believes he might actually be this blind enough to be telling the truth right now.

“So what did you mean?” She asks softly.

“I meant I didn’t picture kissing you to get you to stop talking,” he answers, and she laughs at that (it’s more like a giggle, but she would never admit to giggling, belly full of whiskey or notjvo).

He makes it less funny, though, by explaining. 

“I thought I’d have the courage to spew out some grand speech about how wonderful and beautiful you are. So you would know how I feel, but—.”

“I know how you feel,” she boldly admits, feeling her cheeks heat as she looks into his grateful eyes.  “You don’t need a grand speech. You’ve made some grand gestures instead.”

He really has, and even he can’t deny it, smiling shyly and conceding, “I suppose I have.”

She reaches for his arm, peels back that damned tattoo, and kisses it gently.

He doesn’t know why, doesn’t appreciate the significance, but he looks touched nonetheless.

“I’m not entirely unaffected by your affections, you know,” she says simply.  “I like them quite a bit. It’s just that sometimes, it’s just easier to ignore things that don’t make me feel miserable.  And you don’t make me feel miserable.”

“I am glad,” Robin says, grinning ear to ear.  “And I know too well what it’s like to be attached to misery.  But if my grief over Marian has taught me anything, it’s that the love you feel is not lessened everytime you feel an ounce of joy. Marian wouldn’t want me to spend every moment in pain for her.  And I daresay your son is similar, if the stories you and the princess tell me of him are true. I know you have been trying to be a hero to others, for Henry. I think he'd rather it if you fought for all life, for everyone’s happiness, including your own.”

He’s right, of course he is. 

But she doesn’t want to dwell too much on that now, because then she will lose all these endorphins, lose the rush and adrenaline of escaping death.

She will lose the intense  _ need  _ she has to finally feel alive again, finally feel what it’s like to be cared for and cherished.  

And she has wanted Robin so badly, for so long, she has no reason to deny him anymore.

So she pushes all the pain and grief of Henry aside, and draws her soulmate in for another kiss.  

The potion is odorless, so he smells of pine, peppermint, Frankincense, a hint of lavender. He touches every inch of her with oily, slippery hands that heal every ache she has,  and she lets him — oh, how she lets him, moves his hand last to where she craves them, urges him to toucj her, to press fingers inside her, put his tongue where she’s most sensitive, bringing her to peaks of pleasure she didn’t think she’d let any man bring her again.

She could blame the whiskey for her weak willpower, the near death experience, but as he’s moving inside her, whispering about how  _ good  _ she feels, how much he’s wanted her, and for so long, she cannot deny she has felt the same.

She takes and lets herself be taken, is bold enough to tell him she’s wanted him for ages, wanted his mouth on hers, his hands all over his body, fantasized about being with him, being one with him, almost from the moment they first met.  

The confession has him coming with an appreciative groan of her name, and panting and thanking the gods above for bringing her to him, and she can almost cry from the sheer honesty she feels in those words.

If there’s someone who considers her presence to be a blessing, perhaps life is worth living.  Perhaps she can find happiness.

“Promise me you won’t actively seek to be a martyr,” he whispers as they lie next to one another in her bedchambers that night.

The whiskey has long since worn off, but her affection and desire for him has already grown, and she finds she isn’t quite ready to let him go, isn’t yet ready to stop exploring physical affection with him, so she hopes this mood won't go too soft now.  

They are going to be sore come morning, but it will be a pleasant sensation for Regina, she thinks, one that comes with delicious memories she won’t soon forget.

They may burn for all eternity for the passion they’ve experienced together in these last few hours, but it will be worth it.

“I can promise to try,” Regina breathes back.  Because she’s working on it, working on putting aside those suicidal thoughts, of letting go of her guilts and regrets.  

Robin seems satisfied with that answer, draws her in for a kiss, telling her that trying is the first step in really healing from a loss.  Regina hates that he is right so often today, it’s so frustrating.

She tells Robin that she isn’t ready for the entire Kingdom to know the Queen has taken a lover yet, so Robin will have to continue to sneak into her room undetected, to keep their affair a secret in front of all others.

He doesn’t seem to mind that arrangement.  It’s his specialty, after all, to find creative ways inside places heavily guarded, to work his way inside strong stone walls, reach what is precious to him, when others have thought it a lost a cause.

He tells her that if she wishes him with her, not to worry.  He will find a way to be there.

It seems like a fitting arrangement, and they christen their new pact with yet another round of sweaty, needy sex full of far too many emotions to be just about satiating a hunger.

There’s pain ahead, many more wounds and injuries to heal, but for now, Regina knows they will get through them together. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For IBOQ Week, this is based on a lovely art by outlawqueenbey, found here: https://twitter.com/audreysl0ve/status/1044021064928563200

this chapter was inspired by on these lovely drawings by [@outlawqueenbey](https://twitter.com/outlawqueenbey)

If anyone were to ask about his relationship with the Queen, he would say that it doesn’t exist.

That's what Regina wants, she’s made that clear

Her reasons are her own, and he’s never so much as asked why they must be so secretive. She’s told him anyway, plainly whispering in the dark that she’s _sorry for the inconvenience_ but she despises gossip, and she doesn’t want Snow White to come to her with _makeout tips._

Robin never pushes, never does anything but chuckle and assure her he doesn’t mind sneaking around.

He does, actually, but he doesn’t mind it nearly as much as he does the thought of not getting anything with her at all, so this will have to do for now.

She cares for him, he knows she does.  So if he expressed the slightest protest about their situation, she would call the whole thing off, decide she’s toxic and evil, and close herself  away forever.

So he says nothing and doesn’t given her the slightest hint that his heart burns when he sees her in the halls and can’t so much as as hold her hand, or whisper a familiar greeting into her ear.

Since he can’t offer her words of love, he gives snarky banter instead, and much of their interactions in public is fighting and insulting one another.

He doesn’t mind it, not so much, because the makeup sex after these little fake fights is out of this _world._ Itmight be in darkened, magically soundproofed rooms, but she is so passionate and affectionate during those times that it makes up for the mountains of insults and fury she shoves at him in public.  In fact, their fights have become increasingly... arousing for him as he thinks of what is to come later that night.

Still, he would like to share a meal with her, would like to be able to comfort her when he sees she needs it.  WHen someone mocks her, or throws her past in her face, he defends her automatically, and he’d like to be able to do so without seeing her venomous look, warning him to make sure no one discovers the dirty little secret that he actually cares for the Queen.

There are reasons for this arrangement she doesn’t voice out loud, but he knows them just the same. She’s dropped enough hints, it’s all leaked out of her in pieces.

Part of it, he knows, is fear that their relationship will harm him in some way. She’s all but conceded that point. In private, she yells at him for defending her in public, asking what will his men — what will _everyone_ say and think of him, if they believe he has _feelings_ for the Queen and the feelings are making him take her side _?_ She swears no one will respect or listen to him, that someone might enact their revenge on her through him — or his _son._ She wants him to be more careful for Roland’s sake of not for his own.

But truly, they are a forgiving people with short memories. Plus there is a new evil to fight, and she’s been fighting it dutifully, acting as the protector of those who live within her walls, saving them from illness, and making sure they are well fed and clothed. There’s still epic distrust amongst many, but he princess walks arm in arm with her in the castle, and her endorsement has softened the minds of many who have long since given up the idea that Regina may have possessed or enchanted the Charmings. So while he will get some stares and words of disapproval, he is entirely certain he and Roland are safe, even if his relationship with Regina were made public.

He could try to assure her of that, but he knows there’s another reason she’s hiding their affair, and he cannot solve that with words of logic or promises. It has to do with her own self worth. The soft pain of it all keeps him up at night.

She drops a hint about it once while they talk about evading David’s eye during one of their (nearly daily now) trysts. She grimaces and whispers that the Prince would probably not be surprised if he found her in bed with Robin, because he never really thought she cared about Henry, anyway.

And those two statements seem totally unrelated to Robin, until he’s able to piece them together with what he knows of Regina.

The Queen doesn’t want anyone knowing she’s sought a lover, that she’s taken any joy in this life, because, quite simply, she ashamed she’s let herself feel anything but grief and misery with Henry gone and so many lives lost by her hand.

He’s sensed the grief _and_ the guilt that follows every free spirited moment of fun. She judges herself for not spending every moment left on Earth full of self loathing and mourning for her son. And she assumes others will do the same

Particular _others_ , that is. As much as Regina won’t admit it, the princess’ opinion means an awful lot to her. As does Ruby’s, the Widow Lucas, even Prince David. She worries that they will be as harsh on her as she has been on herself.

It’s nonsense. These people actually want her happiness more than she knows. But even if he could convince Regina of this, he could never convince her to forgive herself, that she’s worthy of pleasure.

So he says nothing.

He takes her in pieces because that’s all he can get.

.::.

They’ve been arguing for hours, and Robin is absolutely knackered.

There was a signal cast far off in the woods that concerned them, but now there’s a courier pigeon from Sherwood, saying there are sixteen people in need of a better shelter from the winged beasts that now plague the sky.

Of course, they all want to help them. But as always, they all disagree on how.

“Regina, Robin knows Sherwood forest better than all of us. He’s going.”

“Well, we have seen what happens when we leave in large groups, Robin and his band of twenty men cannot exit the castle in a steamy heap, the monkeys are attracted to the smell of body odor and whiskey,” she bites back, staring Robin down in a way that he swears makes it seem like she’s actually upset with him.

“Regina, that’s unnecessary,” David says sharply. “Robin has been helping us. And if there are people in need of help trapped in Sherwood, we need to get to them as quickly as possible.”

“Also send someone fast,” Regina grouses. “Someone who can quickly magic in and out of there. Let me handle this myself.”

“Regina,” Snow says softly, with an air of unintended condescension, Robin thinks, “I know your magic. You can’t poof somewhere you’ve never been. And you’ve never been to Sherwood. And even if you could, the people of Sherwood would be unlikely to follow you to the castle. You’re the Evil Queen? Remember?”

She grouches and mopes visibly in a way that is so sickenly cute his heart begs him to just lean over and kiss that little frown away.

“Fine. I’ll take the moth with me,” she points at Blue. “Forest boy gives us directions, she gives the villagers a little history lesson on the fact I‘m trying to keep everyone _safe_ now, and we poof back to the castle.”

“Magically transporting between the castle and Sherwood may not be possible,” Blue warns. “At least not the trip back. That witch has done her best to thwart other people’s magic. It’s been temperamental out in the forest. You _know_ this, Regina.  Once we are out there we will likely be stuck walking through the forest to get back.”

“I know _you’ve_ had a hard time with it,” Regina snarls back. “Doesn’t mean _I_ will.

“Enough!” Snow says, staring down at Regina. “Regina, you are right, we’ve had rotten success when we travel in large groups. And with a group of villagers to already transport we should be keeping the people to a minimum. I think it’s got to be Regina and Robin.”

Regina scowls at her, and for a moment Robin is worried that the Princess has made this mission into a little set up. She _has_ been trying to get them to date and he’s had his doubts that she is entirely unaware of their price affairs as she pretends to be.

But if the princess has any personal motive for her plan, she conceals it well. “Robin knows the forest inside and out, and Regina is the most powerful force we have to fight these things. They are the best shot Sherwood has.”

He watches Regina’s face, and knows he has to say _something._

“I find Blue to be a very powerful fairy,” Robin muses, staring daggers at Regina, “and she will surely be better company for me. She can go with me, in Regina’s place.”

“Robin,” David warns, “Come on, no one likes this—” Robin has to bite his lip from smirking about how wrong and oblivious David is “—but it’s for the best. Can you two please just try to get along? For the sake of this village, at least?”

“Fine,” Regina snarls, “But do not surprise me with another unwanted traveler. It’s bad enough I’m stuck with _him,_ I don’t need any of his bodyguards to insist on going last minute.”

Robin insists he has no bodyguards, but Regina argues that the only thing she sees his men doing is following him around as if they are his personal slaves.

In the end they are stuck with one another, and it seems everyone believes they are both miserable with the prospect.

Or at least pretends to believe, for their sake.

.::.

He thinks Regina really _is_ miserable with this, after all. It’s just them now, at the castle gate, and she’s got a glass object in her hand that seems to infuriate her, and then she all but throws it violently on the ground and looks at Robin with contempt,  pulling him alongside her as she poofs them without so much as a warning.

He’s never transported so far before, and it’s dizzying and uncomfortable. He thinks she must be mad at him. She never uses magic on him without telling him first, and she’s always very gentle.

“Where are we?” he asks, when the earth seems visible again, when he can make out the trees in front of him. 

She grimaces. “As far as I can remember getting to Sherwood.”

Robin takes on his surroundings.  Familiar markings on trees, the way the grass and moss grows out on this side of he forest.

“This is not far off the thieves trail,” Robin notes. “How did you know this spot so well?”

“Why do you think?” she asks, her voice full of venom, “I used it quite often to catch and torture thieves. Many were from Sherwood.  I know it’s not far, I just can’t remember ever venturing that far to find new peasants to kill.”

She is wild eyed and angry, defensive and short tempered, and he hates that the first time he gets to spend outside of closed doors will be like _this._

“What is wrong?” he asks, “I did everything I promised to, I argued against this, I acted as though I despised you just like you _want—“_

 _“_ You were supposed to tell them you didn’t want to go,” she spits back. “Roland. You’re supposed to stay there with Roland. You are _always_ supposed to be with Roland, you know I hate when you are out here risking your life and your child’s happiness because you have a daredevil streak inside you.”

“Regina, you know I can’t just refuse to go on this! David named me, and he was right. I know Sherwood better than anyone.”

“Fuck you,” Regina claps back, “and fuck your pride, and whatever manhood you claim to have that made you so eager to volunteer over doing me the simple favor of staying out of it. Who cares if the Prince thinks you’re a coward? I can assure you Roland would prefer a coward of a father as opposed to no father at all!”

She’s fuming, and he hates seeing it, but what she’s asking goes against who he is down to his core, and he thinks she knows it.

“Regina,” he soothes. “Love—”

“Don’t call me that,” she growls, stepping back from him.

“Why?” He can’t help but ask. “No one else can hear us. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve called you ‘love’. And as recall, you’ve quite liked it before.”

“When your cock is inside me I don’t care what you’re saying,” she mutters, “that’s different.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” Robin presses, and he can’t help it, they finally have a place to have a proper fight, so he might as well say it, “And it’s not just when I’m inside you that I call you that. Pretend all you want to the world. But not to me. That’s not fair, Regina.”

“I’ll do what I please,” she grouches, before she realizes the words are a bit of a confession and grimaces. “You should have stayed back at the castle where I wouldn’t have to worry about you.”

“I’m not a child,” he reminds, trying hard not to sound as insulted as he is. “I can take care of myself.”

She only rolls her eyes and stalks on. “You don’t have anything to defend yourself with,” she reminds him.

“I have my bow and arrows, Regina, you’ve seen me, I’m _quite_ a good shot.”

“And you know sticks can’t protect you from the likes of _magic,”_ she reminds.

“Tell that to all the _magical flying monkeys_ I‘ve slaughtered,” he snaps back. And that’s it, he’s angry, really angry, she keeps thinking of him as helpless and he can’t stand that.

She’s angry too, though, angrier than him. Her finger waves in his face as she chastises him. “You realize the situation you put me in, don’t you? I won’t be the reason another child is separated from their parent. You will _not_ die or get lost, or— whatever, and make me go through that again.”

She looks absolutely miserable, and it’s his fault. She misses her son, and she’s scared, and he’s been a bit insensitive to that. He wishes she could — just once — show her concern in a way that wasn’t anger and hostility, because god, he would love to hold her. If he could only wrap his arms around her, plant kisses in her hair the way she likes and only lets him when she’s basking in the afterglow. But he knows she seeks comfort from it, god he just wants those moments now.

But she is angry and looks about ready to bite his face off, and he’s not sure how to do.

“Even if something did happen to me — which it won’t, Regina, it won’t, trust me I’ve been in worse situations and survived, I don’t die — it would never be your fault. This is my choice. It isn’t yours.”

“I’m here.” She reminds, her face softening just a bit. “If something happens, it’s because I _let_ it happen.”

“You’re here,” he agrees, “but you aren’t to blame for every bad thing that happens around you. Not that any of this matters, because we are going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Love—” the term slips out before he can stop it, and he almost winces, waiting for the thunderstorm that is Regina’s wrath. But it doesn’t come, this time, she only looks up at him, peeking through those dark, thick eyelashes. “I have faith in you, and us, and our capabilities. I’d trust no one else to rescue these people. No one.”

Regina nods, but says nothing.

And Robin is surprised as hell when he feels her hand reaching for his, squeezing it just a bit.

He tries to not make such a big deal over it and focuses his mind on making sense of their surroundings.

He remembers this area. It’s remote, actually, rather far away from major trails and mostly deserted, less for the few who know of the hidden treasures in the forest. He can’t believe the Queen would ever venture so far, there’s only thick woods and wildlife here, the occasional thief resting, or the lucky man who goes in search of fresh water, who finds the—

“How do you know this place?” He asks again, already able to hear the tell-tale whooshing of the water up ahead.

Regina gives him a look that says not to test her.

“I know where we are,” he continues. “It’s not a well-known spot by any means, and that’s what made it so beautiful.”

She offers him a little smile, and tilts her head to the left, giving him permission to lead.

He does, his smile growing as they approach, as the sounds of the roaring water grow from a dull hum to a loud static roar.

He guides them to the clearing, smiling brightly at the beauty of it all.

It’s a hidden oasis of sorts, a place situated so deep in the forest, so far off trail, that no one dares to go.

“I first stumbled upon this little spot when I was very young,” Regina admits, staring into falls with a sort of...nostalgia. “I had just become Queen. I’d ride here, sometimes, when were at the summer castle.”

Robin is surprised, because the summer castle, while closer than her own is still several hours on horseback away.

“I had to evade guards to get time alone,” she admits, “but I was faster on horseback than the imbeciles they stuck me with, and I could weave through these trees like you wouldn’t believe. I’d always lose them rather easily. And one day, I was escaping them going anywhere I could, wherever my heart desired, and I just…. ended up here. So I decided to go here as often as I could after that. It would just be me, Rocinante and the falls. For a little while, anyway. I had to leave before they found me on their own and ruined my little secret hideaway.”

“It’s beautiful,” Robin sighs, looking into the waterfall as it catches the sunlight and turns it into a rainbow of colors,the deep jasmine blue and bright aqua of the water below framing the dancing droplets of light.

“It is,” Regina agrees. “That’s why I still remember how to get here after all these years. Now, lead me to this village in Sherwood, Robin. It’s closeby, isn’t it?”

“ _Very_ close,” Robin murmurs. “Come on, this way.”

It’s not her strong suit, following, that is. It’s not really Robin’s either, frankly, and you’d think that would make them ill-suited for one another. Instead it makes him understand her more, somehow, able to read her a bit better.

For a while they just walk through the thick forrest, saying little to one another. She braces herself against him when shimmying down some rocks (she’s in ridiculous heels for hiking, but he won’t comment on that), and then her hands linger on his shoulders, not moving, not quite ready to move on yet.

It’s a bit like a bird who has perched upon your arm, you are mesmerized the creature has come so close, desperately want to hold, to pet it, but know any sudden movements might scare it off.

He just drinks it for a moment, checking her expression for anything that could be seen as a concession.

They’ve never kissed in public. He had thought they were never going to kiss anywhere but in darkened castle walls, sharing soft, hushed moans.

But the sun is shining brightly here and they are alone, they can just…

Her eyes move to his lips for a moment, just a moment, and it’s all he needs to kiss her, and kiss her well.

She’s surprised, it seems, by his eagerness, she gives a small squeak of surprise when he deepens the kiss, when he takes her in his arms and walks her back to the trunk of a large oak tree when he’s free to kiss and kiss her more.

“Robin,” she gasps, “what are you, _mm_!” He’s planting kisses where she likes, where she can’t resist, the way that makes her arch and moans, god he loves that.

“You look so beautiful,” he sighs into her skin, “in the light, like this. I’ve never wanted you more.”

That’s probably untrue. He has wanted her so badly so many times, since he first met her. But the idea of sex here, to be as loud and brazen as he wants is almost overwhelming.

“We have to —” she doesn’t finish her sentence, she’s too busy drawing his jaw up, kissing him more, “we have to find the villagers.”

“They’ve made it this long, they can make it another twenty minutes,” he argues.

She hears his muffled giggle as she lets her legs fall from where they were wrapped around him, and he knows she won’t let him finish what he so desperately has started.

“Robin,” she pants, “I want you, I want this too.” As if to make her point known she thrusts her hips against where he’s already half hard for her. “Just wait until tonight, mm, _god that feels good—”_

He’s loosened her corset just enough to liberate one of her breasts, and now he’s plucking at a pert nipple as she writhes, oh she’s worked up too, this can, this _will_ be fast.

“Ten minutes,” he whispers into her ear before licking as giving the lobe a little nibble. “Of just us in the forest, we can be as loud as we want, we can—”

“No,” she cups his cheeks and directs him back into a passionate kiss. “Tonight, I promise tonight.”

“Tonight we will be making camp with over a dozen villagers,” Robin mutters, frowning deeply. He sounds petulant and has no right to be upset about this. It’s not as if Regina knows how desperate he is to be with her like this.

Regina, however, is smiling at him proudly. “No, we won’t. We’ll magic back.”

Robin looks puzzled. “can you transport so many such a great distance? The blue fairy seemed to think—”

“The moth doesn’t know anything about magic,” Regina waves her hand. “It’s true, transporting that many people under the best of circumstances is hard. And I do sense something in the woods that would make poofing difficult, if not impossible.  A suppression spell, of sorts.  But…” She reaches in the pockets of her dress and pulls out a small vial, “I have a potion to help us avoid all that.”

He looks perplexed. He’s not really heard of such a potion before, one to help transport quickly to different places.

“This is a magnetic attraction potion. I shattered its mate on the floor of her castle, do you remember?”

Robin thinks back to earlier, what he thought was a fit of rage or annoyance when she stomped that glass on the ground.

“This potion is will be drawn to the other as soon as it’s exposed to air... more than drawn. _Connected_ , like an invisible string. I’ll release it, dab it on the villagers and, less than a minute later, it will change, it will seek its other half, and take everything it touches with it.”

“So what, we will all be whipping into the air, flying against trees on our way?” Robin asks, perplexed.

“No, it’s a clever potion. Fast and clever. it will happen so quickly all you’ll feel is a whirl, much like when you transport. except you’ll be practically moving at the speed of light.”

She smiles at him devilish “So you see, we will be back in the castle by bedtime. And, seeing as I’m conveniently no longer furious with you… after Roland is asleep… we can…” she raises her eyebrows at him, “work off some tension.”

He does his best to look excited, to smile, to take it for what it is (because it’s wonderful, all of it, it really is).

He doesn’t want to fight. And she must not either, because she looks at him as if she sees into his soul and can tell he’s not being entirely honest. She gives him that heavy look of skepticism with her eyes, but licks her lips and says nothing.

It’s another hour before Robin tells her they are close.

“There there’s a clearing just ahead these woods,” he explains, finding another marking he recognizes.

“In fact, it should be—”

He’s interrupted by a whizzing arrow aimed directly at the queen.

But she is the Queen, after all, and freezes it a mere inches from her eye.

“Release Robin of Locksley!” a voice cries out, from where he cannot see.

“We have you surrounded,” another voice says from behind. “Release your prisoner or suffer the fate of our thousand arrows. I promise you won’t be able to stop all of them.”

Robin groans, looking at Regina apologetically. But she has this smirk on her face, the one she often does when she’s playing the Evil Queen.

“Do you peasants honestly think you can bring me down with _sharpened sticks?”_ She chuckles deeply. “Do your worst.”

She has a death wish, and he hates it. “No, stop!” Robin bags, “Don’t hurt her, I’m not her prisoner. She’s _with_ me.”

“She’s enchanted Robin’s tongue,” cries a man to his right, and Robin, well, he cannot help but laugh at that, catching Regina’s eye as she shakes her head sternly, displeased with his dirty thoughts, it seems.

Hes going to ask her about an enchanted tongue spell later.

“She hasn’t enchanted anything. We are here to—”

One of those damned winged beasts lunges at them then, poised directly at Regina. She kills creature with a fireball. But then another flies at her, and a third flies towards one of the hidden men.

She kills that one too, with another fireball.

And then the swarm happens.

SHe handles it well, the beasts don’t stand a chance between the two of them, the occasional lucky shot of the other villagers helping a bit.  But it is unnerving, seeing a swarm like that, especially when their bites are poisonous and the cure is tricky — a mere scrape had nearly killed Regina, so one good bite might mean mean their end. And as easily and smoothly as he thinks the battle went, he can sense tension in her eyes.  She is worried.

“Attracted to magic as well as noise, it seems,” she mutters.  

Eventually the swarm slows to a stop, leaving them panting and fearful, but alive.

“Your own beasts attack you?”

Robin recognizes the man from years ago. Reginald. He hasn’t aged well, but an addiction to drink will do that. He’s poised with a bow and arrow aimed at the general direction of the queen, but Robin knows any arrow leaving that bow won’t hit anywhere close to its intended target.

“They aren’t her beasts, you idiot,” Robin groans, still looking around the forest for more predators.

“Who would send these creatures here but her? She’s been after us for years, she—”

“I’m sorry but I have a lot of enemies,” the Queen drawls. “And you have failed to make an impression. And if I wanted you dead, you’d know it. I wouldn’t be sending monkeys to do my business. I’d burn you myself, I’d—”

“That’s enough, Regina!” Robin calls to her. She looks at him sternly, but quiets, and lets him speak.

“I know they’re idiots but for fucks sake we did come all this way to rescue them,” Robin gripes. And then he leans in and whispers to her, “we also need them to voluntarily follow us back, you know.”

“Fine,” Regina snarls. She looks towards the wide-eyed and Reginald, whose jaw is nearly on the ground after watching that exchange, perhaps because Robin had addressed the Queen as Regina, or because he was very nearly chastising her in public and lives to tell the tale. “Gather the rest of your people. We’re headed back to the castle.”

“I asked for Snow White’s help!” another man says, coming out of the brush. “Not the Evil Queen! We won’t be walking ourselves back into your dungeons, you wicked bitch!”

“Hey,” Robin shouts at the man, “You don’t fucking call her that, and by the way, if she was as evil as you claim do you really think she’d allow you to survive such insults?”

There’s murmurs in a developing crowd as people emerge from their hiding spots. Three women and two children come from the direction of the clearing. “I know you may be slow, but even the densest person must be aware that things have changed. The Queen is saving all of your asses. So shut the fuck up and just listen. We will be headed back by way of magic—”

“Magic?” the man gasps, “we won’t be touching the Queen’s magic. And we won’t be joining her.”

“We can’t trust her with our children, Harold!” a frightened woman says, holding her child to her breast, as if Regina would harm a hair on his head.

“You’re asking us to follow a monster and assume the horrors and tortures it has in store for us are less than these winged beasts. We’ve lost many to the winged demons, but I can count far more who have died at her hands.”

“And the word of a man you know and have trusted for decades is meaningless?” Robin asks, “When I say things are different, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Robin,” the woman who speaks is known well to him. Maggie. They were friends, once upon a time. After he lost Marian, she helped with Roland a bit. Gave him some tips when he was frustrated.

“Robin I want to trust you, but she murdered Samuel and my father. My son— I can’t. I can’t let him be taken by her magic too.”

Robin hesitates for just a moment, just long enough for Regina to jump in and speak without interrupting.

“Well lucky you, I won’t be using my magic to get you back,” the Queen rolls her eyes. “It’s a potion. A potion I didn’t even make. _Robin_  made it.”

Robin looks at her curiously, and she offers him a stern look. “Go on, brag about it, thief. I’m sure they’d love to hear the tale of how you stole the Blue Fairy’s spell book and created a potion I had never seen.”

She adjusts the skirt of her dress pointedly, sighing in feign annoyance.

“This is from Blue?” Maggie asks.

She’s hopeful. And the potion won’t harm them, not at all, so he feels a slight fib does not encroach upon his code at all. Not when it’s obviously for the best.

He will tell them how he lied later. Later, he’ll tell them it was Regina’s potion all along.

He can see into the pocket of her skirt, then, and well, they are lucky he’s such a brilliant pickpocket that he can steal the vial from her dress with a dozen eyes on him.

He does it fast, a slight of hand, coughing and drawing their attention up while his hand deftly slips in her pocket and liberates the potion.

“Here it is,” Robin says, holding it up, “Fairy magic. Light magic that will get us to the castle. We cannot walk back, not in a large group like this. As you’ve seen, those beasts are attracted to large groups. And there are children here. A two days hike is dangerous in these woods.”

There are murmurs in the crowd, and it’s just the distraction he needs to whisper softly to Regina, “how does this work?

“Once you open it you must dab it on everyone who is leaving within two minutes. Don’t put it on their skin,” Regina mutters. “Put it on sleeves of their clothes, of the men, preferably their non-dominant hand. On the woman, this may sound strange, put just put a tab on the bottom of those skirts that are dragging on the forest ground. Nothing on the children in their mothers arms, just tell them to cling tightly to their children.”

Robin is puzzled by this but there’s no sense trying to ask why now, the crowd has made its attention back to Robin.

“All right, all of us in a huddle now,” Robin says, calling them together. “We are all going to—“

“Is the Queen coming with us?”

“She can’t use fairy magic! it will reject her!”

“She could corrupt the entire spell!”

“For fucks sake,” Robin sighs, “she will do no such thing.”

“I won’t use magic to transport with _her,”_ another woman says, clutching her child in her arms.

“Well you won’t have to. I’ll just magic myself home whenever I feel like it,” Regina snarls, stalking away.

Robin can’t help it, he’s chasing after her while the crowd calls him back.

“You can poof all the way back?”

“I’ll manage,” Regina bites at him. “Go on, take the villagers.”

“No, Regina, I’m not going to just leave you alone.”

“Go with your men,” she bites. “Now. Don’t let think you’re concerned about me. They won’t trust you. Tell them you’ve tamed me, if you wish. Just make sure they believe you see me as a monster, or they will start plotting against you.”

“Regina, I—“

“Leave me. Now. I’ll get myself back.”

“Why don’t you beat us to the castle, if you can?” he ask. “Go on, transport yourself back right now.”

“I can’t, I have to watch and make sure you don’t fuck up the potion,” she she hisses, her eyes wild and angry, defensive.

Because she can’t magic back, he realizes. And she expects him to leave her in the woods alone, as if she were nothing to him.

This isn’t something he can argue over, however, so he forces himself back to the villagers.

He does what he’s instructed, has everyone hand him their sleeve as he carefully sands the potion on their sleeves, careful not to get a drop anywhere else.

“Do you need help with it on your own sleeve?” Maggie’s asks, “I have a steady hand.”

“No,” Robin assures, “I’ll be just fine.”

Two minutes is almost up, he’s counting down the clock in his head. Fifteen seconds left.

“When you get there, Maggie, make sure to tell the princess what everyone said about the Queen. Speak to her first, so you understand?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell her yourself?”

“I’m staying with her,” he whispers, “tell the Princess, for me. We will be back to you soon.”

“No, you can’t—”

But before Maggie can say another word, she vanishes.

They all do, along with the bottle and rag in his hand. A strong breeze is all that’s left.

He turns to find the Queen looking sternly at him.

“Why are you still here?” she asks.

“I’m not leaving you.” he shrugs. “Besides that castle is horribly stuffy and I _need_ a nice trek in the woods. And those villagers were insufferable.”

Regina rolls her eyes, but he sees the soft smile on her face.

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small compact mirror, bringing it to her eyes and staring in.

“Snow White, answer your mirror already,” she says, her. voice laced with annoyance.

Robin hadn’t known the device existed at all, and he’s unable to fight the urge to smile at the thought of the two of them sharing this.

It seems the princess could keep a secret or two, after all.

“Regina?” The princesses voice sounds a bit startled. “There was a loud boom at the front of the castle, and now t here are voices, we are investigating.”

“It’s the villagers,” Regina says. “I returned them to you. With a magic potion. They are going to have to cut off their sleeves, however. they should be um, stuck to the floor. Which at least renders them harmless,” she explains, shrugging.

“ _Stuck to the floor?_ What does that _— oh!”_ Snow must see what Regina means for herself, because he can hear Reginald’s infernal whines through her mirror, now.

”Are the children okay? Everyone alive?” Regina asks.

“Yes,” Snow groans, and Robin can hear more of the men in the background. “What happened?”

“Ask to speak to Maggie,” Robin interjects. “She will explain everything, and tell it true.”

“There’s an attraction portion I splattered on the castle floor. the potion on their clothes will force them to stay stuck until I can undo it.  Just cut the cloth that’s stuck them there. They will live.”

Regina sticks the compact in her pocket and offers Robin the slightest of smiles. “If they had let me go with them, I would of explained, had them clean the soles of their shoes and transported them with a bit of dignity. then unstuck them with my own magic, but, well…”

She shrugs. “They didn’t want my magic, did they?”

“No, they did not,” Robin smirks. “And frankly I admire you for not just placing it on the men’s cheek and making them wait til we get back. Licking dirt for a few days might be what they deserve.”

She shrugs. “Don’t think that part of me didn’t want to do that,” she admits. “It’s a smart potion, though. I’ve perfected it over years. The potion doesn’t harm what it’s attached to, it just…. carries it along. It will have very delicately stuck those men to the floor. Unfortunately.”

Robin shakes his head. “Don’t let them get to you.”

“I won’t,” she says stiffly. “I never do. But they reminded me of why _you_ need to stop thinking that _this”_ — she gestured in the space between them— “is ever going anywhere. You step out into the light with me and you lose your role as leader. You lose their trust, and their respect. You’d do well to remember that. This arrangement benefits _you_ as well as it benefits _me.”_

“If you wish it to remain a secret, I wish it as well,” Robin lies simply. “But I wouldn’t be true to myself if I let the thoughts of others drive my decision on this matter. If that’s the only reason you—”

“It's not the only reason,” she sighs, “come on, let’s head back. We have a two days trek ahead of us, and I have no idea what you packed in that satchel of yours but I didn’t anticipate spending the night in the woods, and i’m not sure how much magic it’s safe to use while you’re here. Which, by the way, you shouldn’t be. You should be safe back at the castle.”

“Yes stuck to the floor with a group of inbred morons. No thank you.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll take my chances with the flying monkeys.”

“They were swarming those villagers.” she reminds. “Seven men were dead.”

“Because they were imbeciles,” Robin points out. “We are smarter than them.”

“We are,” Regina says softly. “Still, I didn’t want to take you from Roland for the night. Or from your men.”

“I have been desperate for a day alone with you,” he admits, the words just tumbling out. “I’m going to enjoy every brutal, blistering hour of this torturous walk back.”

She looks at him, touched for a moment, and then shakes her head, as if ridding herself of whatever thought was in her head.

“If you’re hoping to get a loud forest fuck, you know that’s off the table. We aren’t going to draw the attention of poisonous flying beasts... She rolls her eyes playfully and huffs. “I’m sorry if you had planned on this being a romantic excursion. If that’s why you didn’t take the potion, you made a grave error.”

She’s entirely off base, but he knows her better than to poke her at this point — she’s still cross at him, deep down inside, for not going back with his men — so he doesn’t fight her. He plays with her instead.

“Lets not rule anything out,” Robin smirks back at her. “Let’s just see where the mood takes us.”

She frowns, contemplating.

“You know we couldn’t be as loud as we wanted out here,” she muses.

“No?”

“Those winged beasts are trained to swarm at loud sounds,” she reminds, “especially loud human sounds. But,” she wraps her arms around his neck, “once we are back safely in the castle walls, I can soundproof the bedroom, and we could be as loud as we wanted.”

“Yah?” he asks, wagging his eyebrows.

It is a nice thought if hers… those sorts of charms always require a faint ongoing sense of concentration, and leaves Regina partially distracted. And that’s why he hasn’t asked for it before.

He wants her, nothing else in the back of her mind keeping her from _them_ together.

He sighs, feeling rejected and frustrated, but says nothing and only nods.

And Regina sees something, the disappointment, the words that he’s left unspoken, and it ignites her.

“What about that plan is unacceptable to you?” she asks, not even hiding the hurt out of her voice. “Are you boring of our arrangement?”

“Never,” he says quickly, pressing kiss after kiss to her knuckles. “I’m more than happy with what we have. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to look like I felt otherwise. I’m a bit warm; the sun is particularly bright today.”

“You really want to fuck here, with the threat of death looming over us?” Regina scowls. “It's _that_ important to you?”

“I never said that, and it’s not that important to me,” Robin rushes to assure.

“I can tell when you’re lying,” she scowls. “You’re scowling and huffing, acting like an impatient child. Look, I’m sorry I can’t make your exhibitionist dreams come true, but we have people to save here.”

“It’s not that!” he says quickly. “I’m not… I may have that,” he chuckles, realizing it may be true, his ears burning. “But I didn’t suggest a quick romp in the woods because of the thrill of someone seeing or the risk of almost being caught.”

“Then why?” She asks, is it the danger of being absconded by flying monkeys at any point what gets to you hot? Risk of death a turn on? Is that why you decided to shack up with the Evil Queen? Has it been that all along? You run towards danger because the fear gets you going? I should have forced you to take that potion. That and others that would keep you from your _instincts_.”

She’s feeling insulted, he realizes, and he’s got to stop this spiral before she starts believing the theories she’s spouting.

“That’s not why I’m with you, and you know it.”

“You’re not _with me_ at all,” Regina bites back. “And you never will be.”

“I’m _with you_ nearly every night now,” Robin retorts, “and lie to yourself if you want but you absolutely know this isn’t about sex.”

“Says the man who subjected himself to a two day hike and is now throwing a temper tantrum over sex,” Regina says pointedly.

He hasn’t thrown any sort of a tantrum, he’s only sighed, it’s nonsense, but he chooses to let her insult go.

“That’s not… it's not about that, Regina.”

“Then what? Why are you here?”

He stops walking then, grabs her hand, forces her to look at him. As angry as she is, as hurt as _he_ is, they need to slow down before this fight ends in a breakup. And he needs to tell her how he feels when she can’t run away, can’t conveniently pop into another room.

“This area of the forest is completely abandoned, Regina. I want to be with you here, not just make love to you. I want to spend time being able to hold you and touch you and say whatever I want without fearing someone may overhear or misinterpret those words, or whether my feelings— because I have them for you, Regina, let’s not deny that— my feelings have somehow shown through. I like being with you now because we _can’t_ get caught. We are all alone. And I love everything we have, but sneaking around the castle… having to pretend I hate you in public all the time, always having to be hushed and quiet… running from you the instant you think someone might see us, it can feel...” She understands, he can tell from the soft, sad expression on her face. She looks so touched, so pained. Guilty, it seems. He tries to wave the whole thing off by finishing his thought with “Well, anyway. I just wanted something a little different. Once.”

He watches her look at him, that special way she does when she realizes she has misjudged him, and no, he has not been able to convince her that this is no big deal.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” she murmurs softly.

“I don’t feel any sort of way,” he lies. He can’t have her know this bothers him or she will call the whole thing off. “I just thought we could try something different. It was just an idea, Regina, don’t think anything of it.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, as she continues down the path. “I can’t give you what you want.”

“We can always keep it a secret, Regina. I don’t need or want anything different. It’s just this once. It’s just that sometimes…”

He should be honest, even if it costs him this trust.

He can’t bear to look at her, to see the hurt in her eyes that there will be as he admits this, so he focuses on the forest ground, on the leaf covered earth, twisted roots snaking out, threatening to trip those who do not tread carefully.

He always treads carefully, though.

He starts slowly, a gentle reminder. “You know how I feel about you. You’ve admitted as much.”

“I do,” she says softly. “You are good at that. At letting me know how you feel, showing me all the time.” There’s a moment of awkward silence when she adds, “It’s a weakness of mine, I know. I am not so good at showing how I feel.”

“I think you are.” He won’t be presumptuous and tell her how she feels, how she’s communicated to him that she cares. That’s too much, it would make her feel too exposed.

For awhile they all in silence until the words left unsaid surround him, choke him, and he feels he feels he must say them for fear he won’t be able to breathe.

“There is only person whose opinion could possibly sway me when it comes to us, and that is Roland. And it just so happens he absolutely adores you.” He hears Regina’s little hum, a wordless acknowledgement that he’s right. He presses on.

“I’ve gone through several periods when my men doubted my instincts. It never stopped me from doing something I believed in.”

“And I’m the thing you are _doing_ that you currently believe in?” Regina asks, more amused than insulted.

He smiles and shakes his head. “You’re the person I’m with whom I believe in. I only haven’t said this before because I know it doesn’t change anything. It still is best for you if we remain a secret, and I’m happy to oblige. But you need to know, if you ever change your mind, I would be proud to be at your side. Prouder, even, if it meant the world turned against me. Because the only time you truly can say you stood for something you believed in is if you risk something, if it cost you something.”

She isn’t responding, not in word, but she’s staring at him so sweetly it takes his breath away, her eyes wet and shining in the sun.

He reaches for her hand, and she lets him take it. “When I fell in love with Marian some of my men said a woman would make me weak. They felt a life in the woods would never work for Marian, that I would abandon them. I enjoyed proving them wrong. When I had a child, they said he was a liability. That I would become soft, not an effective leader. Had I worried about the whispers of idiots I would not have my son or those years with Marian. So you see, I have no concerns over the slight possibility that my men will criticize my decisions when it comes to you. I trust my instincts. And in the past, they have come around anyway. I know, however, this isn’t just about my feelings. So for as long as you want to keep things a secret, it would be my pleasure. If anything ever changes with regards to that, I’ll let you know.”

“Will you really?” she asks. “I know I don’t… I don’t always… I’m not easy to talk to.”

“You are to me. And have I ever swallowed my tongue around you? I’m not afraid of you, Regina. If my feelings ever change, you’ll know. I’m not one to be quiet about my displeasure.”

She chuckles then, squeezing his hand back. “No,” she says softly, “you are not.”

.::.

She’s not sure how well equipped she is for a two day hike with Robin. She’s woefully unprepared in the supply department — Robin brought his own items of course, but Regina didn’t mean to be in the woods longer than the morning.

But really lack of bedding and improper shoes isn’t what is making her feel unprepared.

Two days in the woods hiking with her _soulmate._ Her soulmate who doesn’t know he’s her soulmate, her soulmate who she really likes far too much.

She’s had this sinking feeling she was headed into something dangerous all day, and it seems she was right.

She thought it was flying monkeys or a trap made by her witch of a sister, she’s been on guard the whole time, so worried that something will harm Robin and make Roland an orphan, and leave her… feeling all of this alone and ruined once again.

But Robin was the real danger all along, it turns out.

She can’t run away from the conversation or the feelings now, she’s stuck with him now, and he’s making her heart beat so fast it might burst, and then every last emotion, all her fears and worries and doubts and every ounce of guilt will come tumbling out for him to see.

And that terrifies her.

She’s going to share way too much, and they won’t ever come back from it once she tells him how she feels.

She was supposed to be pushing herself away from him, because any person she falls in love with gets taken from her, one way or another.

But he’s her weakness, always has been, and she wishes she found that obnoxious instead of intoxicating and freeing. It’s nice being able to enjoy someone — even if she only lets herself enjoy him in brief moments.

But she’s not for him. She’s not good enough, not pure enough.

She can’t give him much on this Earth, she can give him sex, she can give him kind words and encouragement behind closed doors, most of all, she can give him and his son protection.

But she can’t be the woman he deserves even though she desperately wants to be. God, if she could only make him feel the way he makes her feel, she thinks that would be a true taste of heaven.

She looks up at him, and his eyes are full of such affection, she can’t help herself from breathing out the truth.

“I’m not ashamed of you. Far from it,” she says, licking her lips before biting that bottom lip hard, punishing herself for the words slipping out.

“I know, darling.” he says simply, leaning in to kiss her brow, as if she were some innocent farm girl and not the powerful and EVil Queen. That’s how he treats her. All soft touches and kind, gentle words she loves despite herself.

“I want to be with you out in the open too, sometimes,” she confesses, her heart knocking hard in her chest. “Just to be able to hold your hand, lean against you, whenever I feel the need...it would be nice.”

“It would,” Robin says, and it seems he’s keyed into the importance of this confession, his eyes have gone soft and serious, urging her to continue, but not interrupting, not questioning anything.

“But I just… I can’t…” she’s not sure how to finish that sentence without spouting into a convoluted discussion on karma and her history of losing everything she loves.

They reach the clearing then, the one she used as a sanctuary when she was the young queen. The breathtaking beauty of the scene is completely awe inducing. The water dances and shimmers in the sunlight, twinkles of drops of color splash and spray from the falls, the roaring, deafening sound of the water calming, the way it was when she was younger.

The comfort that she couldn’t be overheard over the sound of the water rushing and crashing below.

And that’s when she has an idea.

“Come with me,” she say, leading him towards the pond.

“What exactly are you doing?” Robin asks, as she begins to unpin her hair and loosen her corset.

“No one can hear anything over the sound of the water,” she whispers to him. “I know I can’t give you—”

“You don’t need to give me anything more than you already have. Regina, I—”

“I want this. I want this too. Are you the only one who likes new adventures?” She asks coyly.

He bites his lip and says nothing, so she fills the silence. “The water is so cool, it’ll feel so good, and we don’t have to worry about the beasts coming, the falls will cover every sound. We will be protected in there. We can be free.”

He kisses her, a slow, soft, emotional kiss, and then whispers in her ear “I think that sounds wonderful, if you’re sure.”

She’s sure.

Her dress is a deep crimson dotted with pops of black lace. It’s heavy, and hot in this weather, she doesn’t dare use magic to cool herself, not when the beasts seem attracted to magic. So she feels sticky and disgusting as Robin helps liberate her of the dress.

So goes in first, removing her small clothes with a lack of shyness that sends a bolt of excitement through her. It’s so nice to just be this comfortable with someone else. She hasn’t felt this in… possibly forever.

Robin joins her quickly, she laughs as she watches him clumsily trying to remove his boots too quickly and nearly falling to the ground as he tugs at them.

But he undresses fast, she watches, he’s naked and partially aroused, wading into the cool water without his eyes ever leaving hers.

“You are gorgeous,” he rasps, “and you are right, this, I think, is just what we needed to cool off.”

The water protects her, the roaring crashing sound behind her like a forcefield, and that protection emboldens her, has her letting down walls she didn’t think were collapsable anymore.

“I used to dream of running away when I was younger, and living somewhere around here. A bandit in the woods.”

She giggles and looks at him. “Isn’t that odd, Robin? That I dreamt of one day living just like you and your men, and apparently not far from where you made camp.”

“I think it’s fate,” Robin says softly. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’d make an excellent bandit.”

“I still think of leaving it all sometimes,” Regina admits. “The crown, the castle, everything. Take my chance with the flying monkeys. That place reminds of the darkest times of my life. Reminds me what of what I did to deserve all the pain I have, all the loss I suffered.”

“You’re not that person anymore. And the castle isn’t your prison, Regina. Not anymore.”

She smiles, wrapping her arms around him.

No one can hear her, no one but him. “Sometimes I think I’m afraid to be happy,” she says softly, hardly able to hear her own words, so they don’t seem real.

“Are you happy when you are with me?” he asks, stroking the wet skin of her shoulder, not interrogating, simply asking.

“Yes,” she admits. “Too happy, I fear.”

He’s all smiles, looking truly touched as he assures “No such thing. Not for you.”

He kisses her, sweetly at first, with adoration and far too much emotion, but she finds herself wanting to give it back, pouring everything she feels back into those kisses, fighting the urge to break down into tears at the sheer _feeling_ of it all.

She’s with a man of her choosing, right here in her waterfall, the one she loved as a young, unhappy queen and dreamt of better times.

She lets him take her in his arms, walk her back to the smooth, wet rocks, lets her find balance against them as he presses kisses all over her skin, licking and sucking her breasts the way she likes, drawing out moans and sinful sounds only they can hear.

“I know I say this often,” he moans, pulling away from her just far enough so he can see her face, her body. “But you’ve never looked more gorgeous.”

The thing is, she _feels_ gorgeous now, the water probably has streaked her makeup or stripped it clean off, her hair is in half wet, tangled locks, but in that moment, she doesn’t belong to anyone. Karma can’t have her, the crown doesn’t own her, her past can’t choke her.

Here she is just a part of the world, a part of the forest and the rapids above, the pond below.

There’s nothing but them.

She kisses him back because she wants to, because she can, because it gives her pleasure. She lets him tease her, lets him caress her limbs, softly, so that her hair stands on its ends and her body is covered in gooseflesh, oversensitive and overstimulated, begging for more touch.

He licks and sucks at her breasts until she cries out for him, rocking her hips in the water, pressing into where he’s hard for her, asking him to be with her.

“Gods,” he grunts, “I want you.”

“Please,” she asks again, “take me.”

He lifts her in his arms and flips them, so his back is against the rocks, and it’s a bit awkward, her body wrapped around his, her in his arms, but he’s a man of the forest, after all, and this position probably isn’t entirely new to him. He does the work, maneuvers her the way he wants, sinks himself inside her.

She cries out at the feel of him, and he chuckles. “Feel good?”

“Good angle,” she hums, “ _Oh_!— keep, keep it like that.”

He sets a slow pace, a series of thrusts and a snap of his hips that hit her deliciously, and he keeps the lazy, strong rhythm, as he holds her close. He’s so thick, hits her so deeply at this angle she’s already seeing stars, drinking in the smell of wet earth and grass as she clutches to him tighter.

She cries out a few times, greedily reaches for his lips to kiss and kiss him. In this moment, sun on her back, the gentle mist of cool water around her, the man moving deliciously inside her, urging her to _let go for him…_ it’s paradise.

She feels nothing but the sheer pleasure of it all as she cries his name as she falls apart, her body slumping into his arms, satiated and boneless.

He quickens the pace then, chasing his own release, and she urges him along, whispering words of praise and thanks in his ear.

“Gods, Regina, I, I— love—, _oh fuck!_ , you… so much! _Mm,_ gonna, god, I really _mmm!_ ”

She kisses him quiet as he moans and spills into her.

She tells herself to forgets the words, they were barely audible over the sounds of the water cascading around them.

But he’s said them, and part of her knows he meant it, it wasn’t just an orgasmed induced delirious rambling.

He meant them.

She won’t let him regret saying it, even if she can’t say it back.

She kisses him as they come down from their high, slowly letting herself down from his arms as he slides out of her.

She feels clean and pure somehow, despite the evidence of her lack of virtue leaking out between her legs into the cool water.

In this moment, Robin Hood loves her, and she loves him, and damn all the consequences that love may bring, they have it, they have it now.

“Me too,” she whispers into his chest, her heart leaping at even those two words. They could mean anything. But he will know what she means. He always does.

His little breathless chuckle confirms this fact, the way he strokes her hair gently.

She feels her body tingle, a surge of warmth creeping at the domestic moment. And then something sparks in her palm, and she realizes it isn’t all Robin’s touch doing it to her.

“I feel strong,” Regina whispers. “My magic. Whatever’s been placed in the woods to thwart magic, or track it, suppress it… it’s not here. It’s not in the falls.”

“Can you,” he whispers into her hair, still kissing, always kissing, peck after peck anywhere he can. “Can you take us back, you think?”

She nods a bit, then grimaces at their state. “I think we need to be wearing clothes first,” she sighs, “I wouldn’t want to bring us back and have my aim be slightly off and end up naked in the mess hall with you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Robin chuckles.

He is so warm, Robin is.  And he feels so solid, so strong, so safe.

She finds that maybe magicking back is horrible idea. 

“I think I can get us back, but,” she reaches up for him kissing him again. “Maybe we don’t have to leave right away.”

He raises his eyebrows, and teases, “With the threat of wild beasts and death about, you want to spend the time galavanting around the forest, having a little sex crazed vacation like there’s not a care in the world?” he clicks his tongue. “So irresponsible, Regina.”

She elbows him in his ribs and he lets out a painful laugh.

“We’re safe here. I feel safe here. We can stay. Just for a little while. Don’t you think?”

He’s the picture of ecstatic, really. “I can’t imagine anything I’d like to do more, milady.”

She’ll return to the castle tomorrow, with it’s stuffy dresses and dank, hot air, to the hollow stone rooms and oppressive company, to the whispers and disdainful looks that haunt her. Tonight she’s going to enjoy fresh water and open air, and appreciate simple pleasures of nature with the man she shouldn’t love, but does anyway.


End file.
